Nurture
by wheresthelambsauce
Summary: If the Hermione Granger we knew was the product of a politically correct Muggle value system and a history of partially righted mistakes, then what would she be like growing up in a bigoted society where discrimination is a symbol of the elite? A Pureblood!Hermione story. Final pairing undecided, updates sporadic.


A/N:

I haven't written in a very long time, but 2 months of break has done nothing for my boredom. This story is not beta-ed and I will only consider getting a beta after I have uploaded at least 10 chapters, in case I abandon this story as well. My writing has become very stiff after not having written fiction for more than a year, so please bear with me. The quality of the first few chapters will not be what I am currently aiming for, but hopefully it'll sort itself out after I become more used to writing pedestrian-style.

In case you haven't read the summary, this fic is a pureblood! Hermione fic with no set pairing as of now. Of course, there will be some romance along the way, but it'll be in the later parts of the fic—probably during 4th or 5th year. Hermione will **not** be like canon Hermione as her background will be different, so please don't come whining in the reviews about how her moral compass is not 'correct' or not what you expected.

 _19 September, 1979_

Robert Granger was pacing.

His footsteps were rather loud, but honestly no one could blame the man. After all, many other men, in similar states as him, were chewing on their fingernails and tapping their feet anxiously. They all looked rather ragged and worried, but their eyes shone with anticipation. All in all, it was a common, everyday scene in the waiting room outside the maternity ward.

Robert swore in his head. Why did they have to choose a hospital that didn't allow fathers in during childbirth? Absolute nonsense! The bloody hospital should've changed this rule back in the early 1970s like all the rest! Scowling, he continued his pacing, waiting for his newest bundle of joy to be delivered into the world.

A few hours later, he heard his name being called. "Mr Granger? Oh yes, there you are. Congratulations on your new baby girl!" The nurse cried happily.

Eyes wide, he walked into the room behind the nurse. A baby girl. Yes, he'd known the gender five months ago, but still, a baby girl! His little girl.

The moment the nurse went to the side, his wife appeared. Her hair was matted and damp with sweat, and her eyes looked like they were about to close any moment, but when she looked up, Robert saw her tired smile and the gleam in her eyes as she held their baby girl. "Hermione," she said hoarsely, "that's her name."

"She's beautiful," whispered Robert.

In the split second that he saw his baby, he felt something in him react, and he knew somewhere deep in his heart that the baby was special.

Like him.

Magical.

In truth, once upon a time, deep in the Scottish highlands, Robert Granger had been known as Rydis Selwyn. His family had been extremely excited for the birth of their first son, and had held many parties and formal gatherings to celebrate his upcoming birth. His mother would titter with fellow pregnant mother Pamelia Parkinson and sniff at poor, old Mrs Black and her three daughters.

Unfortunately, Rydis Selwyn was born worse than a Muggle. He was a Squib. The Selwyns were unlike the Dolohov and Rowle families in that they prized family above all. Thus, despite her red face of shame and her husband's look of disappointment, Elia Selwyn kept the boy. But she hated him, _oh she hated him_. He was the living proof of her inadequacy. Every time she looked at him—an abomination, with the supreme blood of nobility running through his Muggle body—she asked herself: How could she, the prized Greengrass daughter, have given birth to _him_?

Surrounded by gossiping servants and cold, unmoving parents, it was no wonder that at the mere age of three, Rydis realised that there was inherently something very wrong with him. In an effort to gain his parents' attention, he threw tantrums and broke his Father's collection of wine bottles. Why? Why were they blaming him for something he couldn't control? He wanted to scream and cry and somehow _make them see that he was still their son_.

Eventually, with the arrival of a pair of twins, one boy and one girl, both perfectly normal, Rydis was forgotten. And so the shame of the Selwyn family ran away at the tender age of fourteen, before being found at the local orphanage and adopted by a pair of wealthy Muggles that gladly let the intelligent boy study Dentistry and have his own practice.

Then, in a Muggle pub, while bemusedly watching his friends get drunk out of their mind before sloppily asking an equally sloshed girl out, he'd met his soulmate. She'd tripped over his foot, spilled her glass of whiskey onto his shirt and unceremoniously puked her dinner onto his shoes.

It had been a bad day.

Rydis had been rather furious, but he'd been raised a gentleman, so he calmly wiped his shoes off and helped her get a glass of water. They'd talked, hit off, and the next day he got a date.

Eventually they got serious, and before they married he'd spilled his past to her, expecting her to scream and threaten to throw him into an asylum.

What he hadn't expected, on the other hand, was that she was a witch. Her great-grandma Iola had been a Black, and the moment she announced her marriage to a Muggle she'd promptly been disowned and blasted off the family tapestry faster than you could say 'a disgrace to the Ancient and Noble House of Black!'.

Her mum had gone to Hogwarts and received less-than-warm treatment for her heritage, and eventually, disillusioned with the Wizarding world, she'd moved back into its counterpart. And thus her only daughter had chosen not to go to Hogwarts after receiving her letter.

And the story of these two, insignificant little people changed everything.

Somewhere in another universe lived a separate Hermione Granger with actual Muggle parents. She would soon grow up to be best friends with an impatient redheaded boy and the Chosen One and save the world from the clutches of the Dark Lord and his minions. But that, dear readers, is a story that has already been told.

 _21_ _st_ _December, 1981_

"I want ice cream!" Red-faced, the little girl shrieked at the top of her lungs.

Placating her, the man in front soothed, "Now sweetie, we had a deal. Two lollipops or ice-cream. You chose the lollipops so you can't have the ice cream, sweetie." Unfortunately, he failed and the toddler only started yelling louder, tears starting to trail down her face.

"I don't care! I want my ice cream! Why can't I just have both? I hate you! _IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou!_ I want it!" As she yelled at the top of her lungs, various little items in the car started to rise up.

Uh-oh, the man thought. "Darling, maybe we should…" He was cut off midway by the irritated woman. "No honey, we can't always give in to her once she starts using her magic. Hermione, stop that right now!" Crossly, she reprimanded her daughter while keeping her eyes on the road.

"NO! I want my ice cream! Give it to me!" With that, pennies and dimes and some papers started flying around in a mini-tornado, and the car started shaking terribly.

"Hermione, sweetie, that's dangerous. Stop this now!" Frantically, her dad tried to calm the girl down.

Unfortunately, it was far too late. Her vision obscured by a stray piece of paper, the woman didn't see the car slowing down in front.

With a sickening crunch, the car collided right into the Honda in front. The woman slammed on the breaks at the same time and the car produced a loud screech. The airbags inflated and uncomfortably squashed behind the white bag, Hermione cried, "Mummy? Daddy?"

Derrick McLaggen was tired and hungry. A sloth and sleaze of the highest order, it was a wonder that he even managed to get past his internship. Still, the life of a trainee in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was not as exciting as the career brochures made it out to be, and Derrick was stuck monitoring signatures of the little children below twelve for signs of accidental magic.

Suddenly, one of the little white dots started flashing red.

Shit, thought Derrick. I guess this is what I guess for wishing something exciting would happen.

"Code red, sir. A young girl, presumably Muggleborn, started having a fit of accidental magic in one of those Muggle vehicles and it crashed into another one of those deathtraps. Both her parents died. With that kind of volatile magic the Ministry might want her with a Wizarding family where it's easier to fix any accidents," reported McLaggen.

Elliot Potter sighed. It must have been quite a blow to the child, he thought. "Time to call in the Muggle Aurors," he told his subordinate. McLaggen was a sloth and a glutton, but he was good at liaising with the Muggles—much better at not yelling into their strange Fellytones.

"Hey…Boss. We've got a problem. The Office for Magical Registries just sent in this girl's info. You might want to look at it," McLaggen's voice held a strange note of uncertainty and wonder.

Potter frowned as he took a look at the file.

Name: Hermione Jean Granger

Age: 3

Parents: Rydis Ignus Granger-Selwyn (Squib), Elisse Aster Granger _nee Parker, formerly Black_ (Witch) (Both deceased)

Status: Witch

Blood Status: Pureblood

Magical Guardian(s): Elissa Gaspar Danila _nee MacDougal_ (maternal grandmother)

Official Guardian: Ryland Selwyn (paternal uncle)

"Are you kidding me?" Potter cried, exasperated. "What a messed up family tree. If I'm not wrong her grandma's married to Ekel Danilovich. That guy's probably gonna' fight for custody, since they're the magical guardians. And the Selwyns are another mess on their own. Pity the kid."

Potter sighed again, running his hands through his unruly hair. "Call up the Office for Custody of Magical Youths and Children. Maybe make a note for the Department of International Magical Cooperation too. Danilovich has quite a bit of say in Russia and he might not like it too much if he doesn't get his way. What a mess…"

Meanwhile, in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Hermione Granger was on the fifth floor sick room with a bright orange blanket around her. The blanket pretty much screamed, "I'm in shock. I've got a blanket," to the visitors and other patients, and they thankfully left her alone.

Huddling into the comforting warmth, she sniffled slightly. Her parents had died because of her, hadn't they? If she hadn't screamed for ice cream and lost control of her magic her daddy would still be next to her, reading A Compilation of Traditional Wizarding Tales for Snot-Nosed Brats to her and her mummy would be waving her stick around and making things fly.

It was all her fault.

Hermione buried her head between her knees and wrapped her arms around herself. She wouldn't see them ever again! Never again. All because of some stupid ice cream. Merlin, how could she have been so childish?

"Hermione, dear, I've brought you some books," a nurse walked in. Hermione scowled into her knees as she heard her. This particular nurse was incredibly annoying. She was, apparently, the head nurse, but she seemed to spend a lot more time than was necessary talking to her. And she'd never given her permission to use her first name! She sounded a lot like the simpering suck-ups that her Deda entertained sometimes.

"Sweetie, you've got a visitor," the nurse poked her head in and frowned when she saw the child. She was crying again.

Hermione wanted to tell her to _go away and never come back_ , but she knew better than to be so immature. What if the nurse really never came back?

Then, a familiar person came in. The smooth, curly brown hair that Hermione had always envied fell to her lower back, and she was dressed in traditional yet fashionable deep purple wizarding robes. "Baba!" Hermione cried happily. Her Baba Elisse was hitting her 70s, but wizarding age differed from Muggle age and she still looked like she was 30. She'd left behind her haute couture clothing today and was dressed, by her standards, more normally. Or as she would've put it, like a plebian.

"Hermione, darling, I've heard the terrible news. It's alright, child, your Baba's here to fix everything, so you just need to wait a little," she patted Hermione's cheek softly.

"You mean Deda's going to throw a fit at the council meeting and solve all our problems," Hermione replied cheekily.

"Oh your Deda's just used to getting everything his way, the old man. I would've encouraged him to retire soon except that if he does he would be at home all day ordering me about! Annoying old grump. His influence does have its uses, I suppose. Your official guardian is some nitty bitty Ryland Selwyn, but magic has of course recognized us as superior, since we're the magical guardians." Hermione giggled. Her Baba was a little bit like a peacock.

Glancing around the room, her Baba sniffed. "I knew the Englishmen had terrible taste in food, but I never realised that extended to their designs as well. What is with these dreary drapes, are you trying to make your patients feel even worse?" She glared at the offended nurse. "Although I do approve of the blanket. Nice and soft. Very eye-catching too," she smiled. Hermione tried to hide behind her orange blanket in vain. Her Baba was always so embarrassing! Once she almost managed to get them thrown out of Selfridges because she'd started insulting Muggle clothing. Of course, her Galleon-to-Pound Card managed to solve everything.

"Let's get you out of here, Hermione dear," Baba suddenly exclaimed. "The English environment is quite…You know what I mean. We can floo back to the Manor in Moscow and floo here again for the custody case."

She almost dragged Hermione out of the room before a particularly daring nurse managed to stop her. "My apologies, Madam Danila, but Ms Granger cannot be released from St. Mungo's unless there is a written letter of approval from the Ministry." Almost immediately, Baba narrowed her eyes at the poor nurse. "And just how do you know that I do not have this letter?" The nurse stuttered a little, losing her prior confidence.

Waving her wand, said letter appeared in front of the nurse. Hermione smiled smugly, her Baba was the best at this.

"Well, I suppose you can leave…But you will have to sign out at the counter," the nurse relented. She seemed incredibly reluctant to let Hermione out of her sight.

"Of course I will, Head Nurse Selwyn. The next time I visit, I do hope you will be as interested in other patients as you do my darling Hermione. Of course, please tell your cousin Ryland to keep his nose out of our business." Emphasizing the word 'our', Elisse Danila strutted out of the ward, her head high. Beside her, Hermione walked calmly, still hung up over her parents death, but soothed by the familiar presence of her grandmother.

A/N:

Not as smooth as I wanted it to be, but it's a work in progress!

Danila/Danilovich: In Russia, females' last names end with 'a' while males' end with 'vich'.

Deda: Short for 'Dedushka', Grandpa in Russian

Baba: Short for 'Babushka', Grandma in Russian

The next update will come next month because I'll be at camp for the next week! Thanks for reading!


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